


Borrowed Wings

by Zaeli_Echo



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Dean'll meet Impala eventually, Don't worry, English Riding, Horses, Maybe some western, Monsters are horses, Multi, Slow Build, Slow Burn, hunter/jumper
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-10-30
Updated: 2018-11-02
Packaged: 2019-01-26 21:00:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,132
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12566088
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Zaeli_Echo/pseuds/Zaeli_Echo
Summary: Dean Winchester is a city boy. Always has been. But when His younger brother takes up a job at a stable, he can't help but bow to his brother's pleas to come and visit. Borrowed Wings opens a whole new door for the oldest Winchester, but can he gather the courage to step through it?OR"Maybe I just can't get enough of the smell of Leather and Horse Shit"





	1. Adam's only here for the cats, the little shit.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> We meet Dean, Dean meets Maia, Adam is a little shit
> 
> 'Nuff said.

    “This place smells like leather and horse shit,” Adam grumbled as he followed Dean down the open - if the ceiling wasn’t thirty feet above his head Dean would call it a hallway - of Borrowed Wings stable.

Dean ignored him, pausing as a large pink nose poked over one of the half-doors along the breezeway. Cautiously, he held out a hand with his fingers splayed. The skin on the horse’s nose was softer than anything Dean had ever felt, like a combination of satin and suede and velvet. His fingers traced along the outer rim of one flared nostril and down along the front of the horse’s top lip. He yanked his hand back as if he had been burned when the horse lipped at his fingers.

Adam snorted behind him.

    “See? This is why I don’t like it here. He wanted to bite you,” The youngest Winchester was tapping his foot impatiently, the noise muffled by the pine shavings layered deep in the aisle.

    “Adam, you shouldn’t be so quick to judge. Maia is one of the sweetest horses here,” Sam’s distinctive Alto sounded as footsteps approached from an open stall. Upon turning, Dean easily recognized the beanstalk-shape of the middle Winchester.

    “Explain him biting, then,” Adam challenged.

Sam chuckled and shook his head. Wordlessly, he walked up and wiggled his fingers against the horse - _Maia_ \- ‘s lip. She flipped her top lip up, showing her teeth in a manner that was oddly adorable.

    “ _She_ is trained to ‘smile’ when you touch her top lip. It’s a trick that her previous owner taught her. Not only is it amusing - like teaching a dog to shake -, but it also makes it easier for beginners to be able to put the bit in her mouth,” Sam explained, his smile turning a shade smug at Adam’s peevish scoff.

    “I’m just here for the cats,” Adam sniffed, “Every barn worth its salt has a couple mangy barn cats.”

Sam rolled his eyes as Adam skulked off - shoulders slumped in his usual surly manner - and turned to Dean.

    “You came to actually ride, didn’t you?” Sam raised an inquiring eyebrow at his older brother, barely masking the puppy eyes that were so infuriatingly effective.

Dean swallowed. He’d only ever been to see rodeos, and thus had rarely seen anyone do anything even remotely tame on horseback. Sure, he’d seen the Olympics too, but that didn’t exactly help. Jumping something as tall as he was on the back of a 1200 pound animal? Not quite Dean’s idea of a picnic.

He nodded.

Sam’s grin made Dean’s anxiety melt a little bit. Sam never said much about his job here, but when your little brother comes home every day from work looking like he got blessed by the god of energy instead of immediately falling face-first on the couch, you don’t need him to say a word. If the place made Sam happy, then Dean trusted his judgment.

    “English or Western?” Sam inquired, still grinning that blindingly happy grin.

    “You mean Olympics or Rodeo? I’ll take Olympics, please,” He shuddered at the thought of having to barrel-race or cling to some bucking bronco. At least the Olympics had - what’d they call it? Dressing? - that did not require leaving the ground.

Sam chortled at that, drawing a scowl from his brother.

    “Okay. I think they’ll probably put you on Constance or Voodoo. I’ll ask your trainer,” And just like that, Sam strode off on his beanpole legs to leave Dean shifting his weight side to side in a breezeway that smelled like leather and horse shit.


	2. Mordecai is a pain in the rear

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Voodoo is a sweetheart, and Sam is patient

Sam walked into the office and plopped into the chair behind the desk, dialing Cas’s number. He glanced around the room as he waited for the trainer to pick up, eyes wandering over the myriad of pictures framed on the back wall. Despite what Sam had expected on his first day, few of the photos tacked and framed and taped to the paneling were of glorious victories on horseback; the majority were candid shots of the staff. Gabriel and his half-brother Balthazar owned the stable and surrounding pastures, and their cheerful charismatic personalities made them insist upon almost weekly gatherings that encouraged camaraderie among the students and staff. The warmth of the expressions in the pictures was invigorating: Balthazar was an excellent photographer. There were a few pictures of the infamous “stink-faces” - all of which included pictures of excellent eq and focused horses and riders making ridiculous concentration faces. The few pictures that contained ribbons were those of young children or green horses with their first blue or red ribbons. Sam gave a happy sigh at the sight of them and was startled when Cas finally picked up the phone.

    “ _ Novak speaking, _ ” The trainer’s distinctive growl prompted.

    “Hey, Cas. Dean just got here and I was gonna work on teaching him how to groom and tack while we wait for you. Should I put him on Voo or Connie?” Sam asked, getting up to tug a sticky-note off the announcement board.

    “ _ Put him on Voodoo. I’ll put him on Constance when I can have you in there with him on Joseph. He keeps her calmer, and I’d like her to be nice and calm with Dean. She can be naughty with new riders, _ ” Cas reasoned, a shout sounding on his end of the line. “ _ I’ll be there in thirty minutes to help finish tacking. If you’ll please excuse me, I have an idiot to fire. _ ” The trainer’s growl took on an annoyed timbre as he excused himself and hung up.

Sam gave a huffing laugh and stuck the sticky note back to the board - it had been a note for Charlie to remind her that the ferrier was coming to trim her mare’s hooves on Friday - and poked his head out into the aisle to call for Dean. 

He hesitated. 

Dean was murmuring quietly to Maia with his hand combing absently through her forelock. The mare looked ready to fall asleep, her nose pressed to Dean’s sternum and her big brown eyes half-lidded.

Sam allowed himself a small smile before he padded into the breezeway leaned against one of the wooden support pillars.

    “I think you’re putting Miss Maia to sleep, Dean.”

The Winchester in question barely startled, but it was enough to make Maia raise her head and nicker at Sam. Dean just scowled.

    “I talked to Cas, and he said to put you on Voodoo. Come on, let’s go get him,” Without waiting for a reply, Sam turned on his heel and strode towards the paddock where the geldings were being grazed for the summer. The soft  _ schuff _ of boots in shavings told him that Dean was following. Pacing to the first gate from the back opening of the breezeway, Sam stopped and waited for Dean to catch up. It took just a couple seconds.

    “Is one of these his?” Dean gestured at the dozen halters hanging on the row of hooks on the gate.

Sam nodded an affirmative.

    “The black leather one with the brass nameplate,”

    “This one?” Dean held up the halter with  _ New Orleans Black Magic _  on the cheekstrap.

Another nod.

    “Does he come to his name?”

This time Sam shook his head.

    “He’s the smaller black one with the four white stockings on his legs.” Sam had already decided Dean would have to fend mostly for himself. Sam would open and close the gate for him, but would otherwise let his older brother handle himself.

Dean let himself into the pasture, walking slowly along the fenceline. It was obvious in his posture that his brother was nervous, but Sam was confident that Voodoo would behave and - hopefully - boost Dean’s confidence.

He watched as Dean stopped by the water trough and observed the geldings in the pasture. Voodoo was grazing next to a Bay gelding named Mordecai. His registered name was Flaming Murdock, but his barn name was often shortened to Cai.

Dean took a moment to make sure he was approaching the correct horse and hesitantly started towards the black gelding. Mordecai snorted and nickered at Dean before taking off at a canter. Dean paused a moment, looking put out, before continuing to walk steadily towards the gelding. As expected, Voodoo lifted his head for Dean to halter him, standing patiently even though it took a couple tries to get the noseband on the correct end of the face. Sam smothered a laugh and schooled his features as Dean led Voo back towards the gate, his expression carefully neutral. Despite Dean’s attempt to look casual, Sam could see the pride written into every contour of his brother as he opened the gate to let the two out, closing it quickly before Cai - the sneaky bastard - could slip out.

    “Now take him to the empty stall across from the office,” Sam directed, letting Dean lead Voo through the doorway before he clipped the stall-guard across the opening and instructed Dean to tie the gelding to the steel ring at the back of the stall. “The tack room is at the end of the barn next to the bathroom.” Again, Sam led his brother to what he needed and let him find Voodoo’s tack himself.

    “Will it have the same colors?” Dean called from the back of the tack room by the saddle racks.

    “Yup, and it will also have his show name,” Sam replied, a hint of pride coloring his voice at his brother’s easy intuition. Sure, Sam was the one with the law degree, but Dean was street-smart. He had some of the most trustworthy instincts and people skills Sam had come into contact with.

A moment later, Dean strode back out of the tack room with his arms full of Voodoo’s tack. The bridle was slung over his right shoulder and the saddle was resting on his left arm, with his right hand holding onto the pommel to provide more support.

    “I needed these too, right?” Dean dipped his chin at the pads stacked on top of the saddle.

Sam gave another nod.

    “Go put those on the rack in the stall. I’ll bring the grooming box.” Sam normally would let him get the grooming box himself, but his arms were already full of tack. Never let it be said riders are weak. Even an English saddle can weigh up to 20 pounds without the added weight of the stirrups. Western saddles are significantly heavier.

Retrieving the brush-box, Sam came back to find Dean settling the saddle on the hanging saddle rack with the bridle already on its hook. He waited for his brother to get the tack settled properly before pulling the first brush out of the box; a round comb with triangular rubber teeth.

    “This is a curry-comb. You use this in circular motions all over his body to rub loose any dirt of hair that would be uncomfortable or itchy to put a saddle on.” Sam demonstrated on Voodoo’s shoulder before handing the curry off to his brother. Dean was as meticulous with the curry as he was when he washed down his truck; combing over every spot and following with his hand to make sure he didn’t miss any clumps. It took a minute for him to finish, and Sam checked how he did before handing him the next brush.

    “This is a stiff-bristle brush. You use this one in the direction of the hairs to brush away all the dirt and hair you freed with the curry. Start at the neck.” Again Dean was thorough, even taking time to brush out under Voodoo’s barrel - something Sam would’ve thought Dean too nervous to do this early in his training. Sam cleaned Voo’s face while his brother finished, and was waiting at the grooming box with the hoof pick in his hand. Dean eyed it warily as he handed the stiff-bristle back to Sam.

    “This last one is the hoof pick. I won’t make you do this part until you’re more comfortable and confident around the horses, but I can show you how you would do it anyway.” Motioning for Dean to stand at Voodoo’s hindquarters, Sam crouched next to the gelding’s front leg, facing Dean. “Make sure you run your hand down his leg from his shoulder. You don’t want to startle him, so go nice and slow. When you reach the fetlock - this joint here -” Sam showed his brother where his hand was resting. “- Lean against his shoulder and pull forward and up.” Following his own instructions, Sam pressed his weight into the gelding’s side and encouraged his knee to bend and allow Sam to pick his hoof up off the ground.

    “What’s the metal part for?” Dean prompted, watching Sam’s movements.

    “That’s the pick. See this part here in the middle?” He pointed out the triangular piece on the inner part of the hoof. “That’s called the frog. That--” He was cut off by Dean’s pitiful attempt to conceal his amused snort.

    “The  _ frog _ ? Like, croak croak frog?”

Sam rolled his eyes.

    “Yes, Dean. Croak croak frog. It’s the sensitive part of the hoof. There’s a furrow around the edge of it, and stuff tends to get stuck in there. Usually, it’s only mud or poop-” This time he ignored Dean’s snort. “- but sometimes they’ll get a rock or a stick in there, and it’s equivalent to having something stuck in your shoe. It makes it uncomfortable for them to walk, so we clean out the furrow to make sure that there’s nothing that could irritate them while we ride.” He demonstrated, digging the pick into the furrow and pulling out the mostly-dried poop caked into Voo’s foot.

He demonstrated three more times on the other feet before stepping back and pitting the hoof pick back in the box.

    “Now the saddle?” Dean prompted, his mind back in business mode.

    “Yup. Take a guess of which pad you put on first.”

Dean looked at the pads piled on top of the black saddle.

    “That one?” He pointed at the schooling pad.

Sam nodded and Dean picked it up off the rack, settling it over the middle of Voodoo’s back. It was even, but too far back.

    “See where the muscle of his shoulder bulges away from his barrel?” Sam pointed out the ridge of muscle and Dean nodded his understanding. “You want the corner of the pad to lie a couple inches over that bulge.” Dean moved the pad, his fingers pressed to Voo’s back to make sure that the pad was aligned correctly with his spine. “Better. Now the next pad?” He prompted Dean to choose which pad was next. Dean immediately picked up the clover pad before glancing at Sam for confirmation. Sam nodded.

Now that the schooling pad was in the correct place, the rest followed easily. The clover pad went on top of the schooling pad, and the saddle fit on top of the clover pad. Sam was in the middle of explaining to Dean why the pads should be pulled up under the pommel when the stall-guard was unhooked to allow someone through.

    “Thank you for helping, Sam. Gabriel is waiting for you in the corral with a greenie he thinks you’ll like.” Cas hooked the stall guard behind him and turned to face the brothers. “Hello, Dean.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, Yes, I got Voodoo's name from "Pilot" when Dean claims he'd just been working a Voodoo gig in New Orleans. I'll probably use so many low-key Canon names and details as horse names.


	3. Don't Touch Seaph's Butt. That's fresh.

The chain that was strung across the stall door clinked as Sam explained the stretch-pressure factor of riding with pads. Dean ignored it, thinking it was probably Adam come sulking back like he always did. Thus, he was surprised when a low voice spoke up.

    “Thank you for helping, Sam. Gabriel is waiting for you in the corral with a greenie he thinks you’ll like.” Dean turned around to greet this stranger as Sam straightened with a smile.

    “Hello, Dean.”

And sweet Christ on a cracker, that voice was only now registering. Shit, man; that  _ voice _ . The only description he had at that moment was Velvet and Gravel and Dark Chocolate because holy batshit, Robin, that voice was liquid  _ sex _ . And the man attached to it fit the voice surprisingly well. Probably round-about six foot, he was wearing a dark blue polo that matched his eyes and beige breeches that disappeared into tall black leather boots. 

    “Thanks, Cas. Dean, I’m off. Text me when you’re done and I can see if there’s anything the hands need help with. Have a good ride!” And with that, Sam left Dean alone in a stall with his sex-voice trainer and a half-tacked horse.

    “Sam! Sammy!” Dean shouted after his brother, but apparently, Sam was either ignoring him or too damn excited about meeting Gabriel - a thought that made Dean frown.

    “I assume Sam showed you how to groom and tack?” Cas inquired, padding past Dean and running a hand down Voodoo’s neck.

    “He told me what to do, and I did it. All but the feet,” Dean couldn’t help the smug smile that crept onto his face as Cas raised an approving eyebrow.

    “You did very well for your first time. I don’t see any clumps or patches.”

Dean dipped his chin.

    “Now you will do his girth. The elastic goes on his left side.” Cas stepped back and stuck his hands in his pockets.

Dean stared at his trainer for a second. He had gone from warm and appraising to cold and hands-off in about a quarter of a second. Frowning, Dean retrieved the thick leather strap from the saddle rack and moved around to Voodoo’s left side, starting to buckle the girth to two of the three straps under the main flap of the saddle.

    “Start with the non-elastic side.” Another cold direction from Cas. Dean obeyed nonetheless. After all, that bit did make sense. He hitched the girth up two holes on the nonelastic side before ducking under Voo’s neck to do the other side. Two holes on that side too.

    “That good?” Dean asked, not really expecting an answer.

A broad hand appeared on Voo’s barrel, two fingers sliding under the girth and tugging.

    “Too loose. The girth is what keeps the saddle from slipping sideways while you ride. If it is too loose, then you will be unable to mount, let alone ride.” Cas circled around Voodoo’s hindquarters and hitched it up on his right side before coming back around to Dean. “Don’t worry about hurting him. It’s just like tightening a belt.” He instructed, his voice warmer now. Dean did as he was told, hitching the girth up another couple holes before stepping back as Cas took a hold of the hanging tails. He pulled up on the tails instead of the buckle and tightened the girth securely. “Stick your hand under his girth and feel how tight that is.” Dean complied. “When you can’t pull very much, then it is tight enough. Now the bridle.” Cas stepped back again.

Dean was veritably dizzy by now. With Cas barking orders and swinging from pleasant to cold, Dean felt like he couldn’t pin the trainer down. Was he nice? Was he rude? What on  _ Earth _ was he supposed to do with all these straps?

A low chuckle alerted him that he had voiced that last thought aloud.

    “The bridle should be oriented how you had it hanging. His ears should be between the crownpiece and the browband,” Cas rattled off the parts of the bridle and where they should go, pointing out each piece as he named them. “But the first thing you want to do is get the bit in his mouth.”

Dean blinked. “Sorry, what?” And earned himself a soft smile from Cas. It was small - barely curling one corner of the rider’s lips - but the warmth showed in his eyes as the crows feet grew more pronounced.

    “Let me show you. Hold the bridle here-” Cas put the reins over Voodoo’s head and showed Dean where to wrap his hand around the two thicker strips of leather (Cheekpieces?), holding the smaller ones to them. “- and loop your arm under his chin. Good, like that. Now cup the bit with your palm and press it to his lips.” Dean hesitated. Voodoo had been good and calm, but the idea of purposefully putting something he was holding inside an animal’s mouth didn’t sound like a picnic. Cas seemed to pick up on this. “Do not fret. If you don’t want to do it this time, you don’t have to.” Dean couldn’t tell if it was his own prideful psyche or not that put a condescending tone in the trainer’s voice.

    “No, I can do it.” He growled stubbornly, taking a calming breath and pressing the bit between Voodoo’s lips. At first, he was met with stubbornly closed teeth, before they opened and let the bit slide to the back of his mouth.

    “Good. Now fold his ears through the crownpiece so that you can buckle the rest of the straps,” Cas instructed. As before, Dean obeyed, cinching the noseband(?) tight and moving to do the same with the longer one before Cas interrupted him. “With the throatlatch, you want to be able to fit four fingers between his cheek and the strap.” Dean loosened it accordingly and stepped back for appraisal. At Cas’s nod, Dean allowed himself a proud grin.

    “Now are we getting on?” Most of Dean’s anxiety had turned into anticipation at this point, and he was itching to be in the saddle.

    “Not quite yet. You need to adjust the stirrups. Did Sam show you how to do that?” The trainer moved to Dean’s right side, checking the girth again before sliding the stirrups down their leathers.

    “Sam was just explaining why the pads had to be loose at the top when you interrupted.”  _ Ouch. Not cool, Winchester,  _ He scolded himself, wincing when the instructor turned a flat stare on him.

    “Place the tips of your fingers here, at the stirrup bar, and hold the leathers taught. Just see how far down your arm the irons reach without us adjusting.” He pressed the stirrup iron to the belly of Dean’s arm. It ended right about at the middle of Dean’s upper arm. “The irons should reach to the middle of your armpit so that they are the correct length for your legs. I’ll drop them down a few holes for you.” The trainer lifted the smaller flap of the saddle and lowered the stirrups before pulling the buckle back up to the bar and dropping the stirrup. He did the same on the other side before pulling Voodoo’s reins back over his head and handing them to Dean. “Stay here a moment. I will walk by with a horse of my own and you may follow. Don’t walk too close to Seraph’s butt, though. He can be naughty at times.

Dean shared a glance with Voodoo, asking him silently what to do with this enigma of a human. Was he even human? Voodoo didn’t answer him but nosed his hand reassuringly. At least, Dean felt reassured. Cas walked by after a moment, leading a pretty white horse in classy brown trappings. He waited for the white tail to swish out of sight before tugging gently on the reins and leading Voodoo out of the stall and along the hall. He glanced warily at the white horse’s back feet, making sure to stay well back. He didn’t want to be on the wrong end of those stompers.

Dean found himself distracted by pounding hooves in a small ring to the side of the path that Cas was following. He glanced over and stopped, watching in awe.

Sam was mounted on a tall red horse as the horse tore in circles around the ring at a speed that surprised Dean. He had seen the Olympics, but to see something in person is far different than seeing it on a screen. Dean’s own little brother was sitting as steady as still on this red horse as it picked its feet up and leaped over a set of poles on the ground. He heard another voice say to bring the horse down to a trot and try again. Sam didn’t even look fazed as the red horse tossed its head as Sam gently pulled on the reins. He saw his brother’s lips moving as he talked to the crazy horse and patiently brought him to a slower, more rhythmic pace. Dean didn’t think he had seen his brother look more at ease.

Cas called for Dean to continue walking and startled him out of his trance. He pulled on Voodoo’s reins and continued walking forward, mind replaying his brother’s smile on a loop. If this made Sam so happy, maybe it would make Dean happy too. He upped his pace to catch up with his trainer.

 


End file.
